Herself, doth Mary stand in radiancy
Of Light. With reverent dignity
Before her bend the Patriarchs, while she
Drinks in the Glory of her Son: and He
On her, His Chosen One, smiles graciously.
And one by one they pass - all splendidly
Clothed in the very Light of Jesus. She
As each approacheth, passing slowly by
In endless long procession, joyously
Sees how He blesseth them, with majesty.
Followeth the train of Women. Now doth He
Take by her hand, His Mother. Tenderly
Speaks He of her to them, and bids them be
Her subjects dutiful: when radiantly
They hail her Queen, and sing for jubilee.
But who these Little Ones, whose trophies be
The tokens of the Martyrs' dignity?
Crowned with the palm, in snow white robes, oh, see,
The Babes of Bethlehem. Will they not be
The Lamb's Companions in eternity?
And countless multitudes, unendingly
Throng round the Throne of Jesus. Ah, they be
Those unbelieving ones, when faithfully
The Ark by Noe was built, and vainly he
The Flood foretold for man's delinquency.
These, as the waters rose, all bitterly
Their sin acknowledged, and believed the cry
Of the true Prophet; when, repentantly
They turned to Heaven's Great God and fearfully
For mercy prayed, Who heard benignantly.
Then doth the Soul of Jesus preach: and they
In woe and wonder hearken silently;
'Till with the Cross He signs them, yea - 'till He
The Absolution tends. When, mightily,
Riseth in Limbo one victorious cry.
- text taken from Mary: The Perfect Woman, by Emily Mary Shapcote